


The luck I've had (can make a good man turn bad)

by heydoeydoey



Series: losing myself here lately [4]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Build, seriously they're moving at a glacial pace, sort of angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heydoeydoey/pseuds/heydoeydoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike paints his kitchen green.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The luck I've had (can make a good man turn bad)

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from The Smiths' "Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want". All the paint colors mentioned actually exist and were sourced on the Sherwin Williams website, in case you're curious.

Mike paints his kitchen green.  It takes him a few weeks to pick a color, and admittedly he torments Harvey about it because it’s entertaining to see Harvey alternate between not caring and getting worked up about why Mike can’t paint the walls Parakeet and the cabinets Eye Catching.  So he spends the weeks following Thanksgiving with swatches taped to the wall, and then when he can narrow it down to a few he paints larger squares because apparently that’s how normal people decide on a color.  They live with it for awhile, see if they can tolerate it in the morning before they’ve had coffee and not hate it at night when they come home from work at hate pretty much everything except maybe the Chinese takeout menu and the sofa.  

It turns out he can’t tolerate Electric Lime (especially with a hangover) and he definitely hates Jitterbug Jade all the time, not just after work. 

“I decided on Citronella,” he announces to Harvey two weeks before Christmas.   

Harvey groans and rolls his eyes, which has been his standard reaction to Operation: Green Kitchen for about eight days now.  “Paint your kitchen like a carnival ride for all I care,” he says.

“That hurts,” Mike says, fighting to keep the grin off his face. 

“You’ll live.”

“Citronella.” Mike says again. “I feel good about this decision.”

“Good for you.  That means I don’t have to hear about it anymore.  Get back to work.”

Mike buys his paint and his primer and the blue tape and the roller brush and he really hasn’t painted anything before in his life but this is another thing normal people do in their normal lives and since everything else in his life is so abnormal maybe it will be nice to have one thing that isn’t.

It takes him several days and several coats and he splatters some paint on his kitchen table when he reaches for his ringing phone but given that he garbage-picked the table off a curb in Astoria (and then made Trevor help him haul it back to Brooklyn) he’s not too torn up about it.  Maybe he can turn it into a Jackson Pollack homage and sell it on Etsy.  Or give it to Harvey as a birthday present. 

He doesn’t even know when Harvey’s birthday is. 

The thought turns his stomach a little.  The most important person in his life, the _only_ person in his life most days, is his boss.  And, admittedly, _that_ line has been blurred bordering on nonexistent since day one, but he is still Mike’s boss.  His boss, and the center of his fucking universe.  And probably most associates feel like that about the partners they work for, but most of them come home at the end of the day (or the middle of the night, more accurately) to _someone_ who can help them shake off the workday: girlfriend, boyfriend, husband, wife, kid, parent, roommate.  Or they go for happy hour drinks with friends from college and they commiserate about their horrible coworkers and their power-hungry bosses and their bullshit busywork assignments that a reasonably intelligent ten-year-old could accomplish.

Mike only has Harvey. Harvey whose birthday is a mystery, Harvey who doesn’t share anything personal unless he's under the influence or under oath, Harvey who got stoned with Mike when his grandmother died, Harvey whose job matters more to him than anything and who’s risked it for Mike more times than even Mike can remember.  Just when Mike thinks he’s starting to understand, Harvey does a one-eighty on him, complicates things further, makes it even harder for Mike to get a handle on their...relationship.  

He’s not just an employee to Harvey.  He can deny it all he wants, but Harvey cares.  Mike knows he does.  But how much?  They’re not just coworkers and they’re not quite friends.  They’re caught somewhere in the gray area between and Mike hates not knowing where he stands.  If he just knew what Harvey wanted, maybe that would be enough.  Maybe being friends with Harvey could satisfy his desire for _more_.  

Because he’s not sure if he just wants more than what they have now, or if he wants _everything_.

Thanks to his track record of truly spectacular romantic disasters, he can’t even trust his instincts.  He wishes it were just as easy as asking Harvey to dinner like a normal person, but nothing about their relationship allows for normal human interaction. 

Besides, Harvey is so far out of his league they’re not even playing the same sport.

He wants to call Harvey the way he’s called Harvey too many times in the months since Grammy died, but he can’t.  He won’t.  He needs to stop using Harvey as a crutch, because sooner or later Harvey is going to lose patience with him.  And Mike can’t afford to have that happen again.  He’s allowed to need Harvey, but only so much.  It’s a balancing act Mike still hasn’t perfected, mostly because the terms keep changing.  

It’s stupid, but he can’t help pulling his phone out and dialing Rachel’s number.  She’s not going to answer.  They haven’t talked since the copy room incident and her ensuing argument with Harvey.   

Her voicemail clicks on and Mike almost hangs up, but he doesn’t.  When the recording beeps he says, “Hey.  I know I fucked up, but can you call me?”

It’s pretty pathetic.  He probably should’ve at least offered up the token voicemail apology.  Then again, it’s not as if Rachel’s going to call him back either way so what does it matter?

He cracks open a beer and goes to flip through channels on the TV, mindlessly watching a _Friends_ rerun (which is stupid, he’s seen every episode, they’re not funny when he can remember all the jokes) before switching over to some courtroom drama that makes him cringe with all its inaccuracies. 

He’s halfway through the episode when someone knocks on his door.  He’s only been living in Manhattan a few weeks, but apparently that’s long enough to get used to the finer things in life, like doormen who ask permission before letting someone in. 

He doesn't know who he's expecting to find on the doorstep, but it's definitely not Rachel.  She's dressed more casually than he's used to, and he immediately feels guilty for interrupting her weekend.

"What's wrong?" She asks, stepping into the apartment. "You sounded terrible on the phone.”

“I didn’t mean for you to just...show up.”

“Do you want me to leave?” She arches an eyebrow at him. 

“No.”

“Okay.” She shrugs out of her trench coat and hangs it on the hook next to his door.  

“Do you want a beer? It’s literally all I have in the fridge.”

“No thanks.”

She stops in the kitchen doorway, and doesn’t say anything for a long minute.

“You hate it,” he guesses.

“I don’t.  It’s just...bright.  I didn’t think the kitchen needed paint.”

“It’s kind of a long story.” Mike sighs.  One he doesn’t feel like retelling. “Listen...I owe you some apologies.”

“Is that why you called?” Rachel asks and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Not exactly.  But I am sorry.  For lying and for sending Harvey after you to clean up the mess I made.”

“I think we both know you don’t _send_ Harvey anywhere.” Rachel says, a bit harshly, and yeah, Mike probably deserves that. 

“No,” he agrees. “But if I hadn’t fucked up so badly he wouldn’t have needed to get involved.”

Rachel sighs. “This wouldn’t have happened at all if you’d been honest with me when I asked.”

“I couldn’t.  It’s not just my secret anymore.  It’s Donna’s and Jessica’s and Harvey’s too.”

“And now mine.”

“I didn’t want to put you in this position.”

“I know.  But we can’t exactly go back, so I guess we just have to deal with it.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Don’t push it.” Rachel says, but her mouth twitches in that way that tells him she wants to smile. “What was so important you dragged me away from dinner with my parents?”

“There was no dragging.  I left you a voicemail.  You chose to come here.”

“Either way, I passed on cheesecake for this.”

Mike hesitates, and he could take the easy way out and say this is all about Grammy (and some of it probably is) but if she were alive she’d refuse to let him use her as an excuse.  It seems wrong to do it now.  “For a long time Trevor and Grammy were the only two people in the world who gave a shit about me.  I’ve never really been the kind of guy who has a lot of people, so that was okay.  But they’re both gone.  And I only have Harvey left, and that’s...” He tries to come up with a word that expresses the combination of panic and contentment he feels, but he’s almost certain such a word doesn’t exist.  (Except maybe in German.  They have a word for everything.)  Mike sighs. “I don’t know what it is.  But it can’t be good, when the only person who cares about you prides himself on not caring about anyone.”

“That’s total bullshit.  Harvey isn’t a bleeding heart, but you can’t tell me he doesn’t care about Donna, and he absolutely cares about you.”

“I never know where I stand with him.”

“Of course you don’t.  He’s your boss and your mentor and your friend and whatever else you two are.” She arches an eyebrow at him, and he can hear the suspicion in her tone.  

“I don’t know.” Mike admits. 

“Well, you’re in good company because no one else does either. Harvey included, probably.”

“It’s all so fucked up.”

“Well, you probably should’ve seen that coming when you joined a law firm without a law degree.”

“Fair point,” Mike concedes.  

“Why don’t you just talk to him?’

Mike snorts. “So much easier said than done.”

“The things worth doing are rarely easy.”

“You know, I think I had a fortune cookie give me that same advice once.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“No, it just makes it a cliche.”

Rachel sighs. “If you didn't want my advice, why’d you call me?”

“Because I couldn’t call Harvey again.”

“Again?  You call Harvey frequently to talk about your feelings?” Rachel asks sardonically. 

“Not frequently.  Like twice.”

“ _Like_ twice, or twice?”

“Okay, a handful of times.  But it’s not like that.”

“Like friends?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Sounds like you are to me.”

“He’s my boss.”

“If you want to just keep talking yourself in circles, you don’t need me for that.”

“I think I love him.” Mike blurts and wishes he could recall the words immediately.  Rachel looks only mildly surprised.

“Congratulations, you’ve reached the same conclusion everyone else got to months ago.”

“You say it like people are talking about it.  Oh shit, they are, aren’t they?”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Pearson is more gossipy than a high school.  You can always assume everyone is talking about each other.  I think they’ve even started a betting pool for you guys.”

“Jesus.”

Rachel smirks, “I don’t think he can help you.”

“You mock my pain.”

“I’m not getting into one of your movie quote-offs.  That’s a Mike and Harvey thing.”

“Oddly enough, that’s not making me feel any better.”

“Yeah, well, nothing is going to make you feel better except talking to Harvey.”

“Stop being right all the time.”

“I can’t.  It’s a gift and a curse.” Rachel smiles. “Are you okay?”

Mike shrugs. “An argument could be made that I’ve never been okay.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything…” Rachel teases. “But seriously, if I leave are you going to put on a Celine Dion album and eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s alone?”

“No.  Obviously it would be The Smiths and Haagen-Dazs.”

“That’s even worse.”

“I know.  Just ‘Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want’ and Chocolate Chocolate Chip for hours on end.”

“That sounds repetitive.” Rachel smiles.

Mike laughs despite himself. “I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.  There’s cheesecake waiting for you, after all.”

Rachel hugs him and Mike hugs her back tightly.  He almost wishes he could rewind to before they broke up, so he could tell her the truth then.  But that would’ve meant fracturing his relationship with Harvey and likely leaving the firm behind, and he knows he wouldn’t have been able to do that.

After she leaves, Mike goes back into his Citronella kitchen.  It still smells pretty strongly of paint fumes, so he cracks a window, and leans against the countertop.  The color isn’t _exactly_ like the kitchen he grew up with, but it’s pretty close.  Harvey will hate it, if he ever sees it, but Mike doesn’t care so much about that.  He learned how to be happy again in Grammy’s puke green kitchen, so maybe he can do the same in his own.


End file.
